A 

Zkought  a 'Day 
for  Cent 


By 

Rev.  James  M.  Gillis,  CS.P. 


A THOUGHT  A DAY 
FOR  LENT 


REV.  JAMES  M.  GILLIS,  C.S.P. 


THE  PAULIST  PRESS 
401  West  59th  Street 
New  York  19,  N.  Y. 


Vr7?/7  Obstat: 

Arthur  J.  Scanlan,  S.T.D.. 

Censor  Librorum. 


Imprimatur: 

+ Patrick  J.  Hayes,  D.D., 

Archbishop  of  New  York, 


>lew  York,  January  19,  1925. 


Copyright,  1923,  by  “The  Mission.'^y  Society  of 
St.  Paul  the  Apostle  in  the  State  of  New  York.,” 


FIRST  DAY  (Ash  Wednesday) 

God’s  Own  Sermon 

**Remember,  man,  that  thou  art  dust” 
— Roman  Missal. 

There  is  a sermon  that  is  always  being 
preached,  not  by  the  tongue  of  man. 
but  by  the  myriad  voices  of  God’s  vast 
universe.  Day  and  night,  without  ceas- 
ing, in  every  land,  among  all  peoples,  in 
the  universal  language  of  nature — the  lan- 
guage that  is  foreign  to  none  of  the  chil- 
dren of  men — God  is  preaching  His  ser- 
mon. He  is  whispering  it  upon  every 
breeze,  booming  it  with  every  thunder- 
clap, flashing  it  upon  the  clouds  with  the 
lightnings.  His  message  is  trailing  its 
way  in  a blaze  of  fire  across  the  sky 
“from  the  rising  of  the  sun  to  the  going 
down  thereof.”  All  nature  is  a panorama 
created  to  illustrate  the  sermon  of  God, 
painted  in  colors  gay  and  somber  by  turn 
to  catch  the  fickle  eye  of  man,  the  spec- 
tator. All  the  universe  is  one  vast  stage 
for  the  enacting  of  the  drama  that  God 
has  written.  All  human  history  is  a pag- 
eant, a never-ending  procession  passing 
before  the  bewildered  eyes  of  mankind, 
and  upon  every  banner  in  that  pageant  is 
written  the  motto  that  God  would  have  us 
read.  And  yet  this  obvious  lesson  is  one 
we  never  learn.  The  sermon  is  one  to 
which  we  will  not  listen.  The  pageani 
passes  in  review,  but  we  gaze  as  in  a 
stupor,  seeing  but  not  understanding.  For 
the  sermon,  the  lesson,  the  play,  the  pag- 
eant, the  spectacle,  is  “Life  and  Death  ” 


— 3 — 


SECOND  DAY 


This  Lent,  Not  Next  Lent 
*Noiv  is  the  acceptable  time** — 2 Cor. 

VI.  2. 

There  is  a decided  ring  of  modernity, 
one  might  almost  say  of  American 
modernity,  in  that  phrase,  “Now  is  the 
time."’  If  there  is  one  thing  that  the  alert 
American  business  man  has  learned  above 
all  things  else,  it  is  the  value  of  the  pres- 
ent moment.  His  favorite  slogan  is  “Do 
it  now.”  If  there  be  one  vice  that  he 
despises  above  all  else,  it  is  procrastina- 
tion. “Let  others,”  says  he,  “cultivate  the 
mahana  habit.  Let  them  say,  ‘Tomor- 
row, and  tomorrow."  We  say,  ‘Today."  ” 
Much  eloquence  has  been  expended  by 
preachers  on  the  folly  of  deathbed  re- 
pentance. But  perhaps  no  one  has  hit  it 
off  so  aptly  as  Young: 

Procrastination  is  the  thief  of  time; 

Year  after  year  it  steals,  till  all  are  fled. 
And  to  the  mercies  of  the  moment  leaves 
The  vast  concerns  of  an  eternal  scene. 

The  deathbed  penitent  leaves  “vast  con- 
cerns” to  the  “mercies  of  the  moment."’ 


— 4 — 


THIRD  DAY 

Conversing  with  God 


WE  cannot  persuade  the  natural  man  of 
the  reality  of  mystical  experiences. 
He  will  say:  “Imagination.  Delusion. 
Catholic  saints,  Quakers,  Quietists,  Swe- 
denborgians,  Theosophists,  are  to  be 
placed  in  the  same  category — fanatics 
all.”  Meanwhile,  we  shake  the  head  and 
say,  “No.  You  misunderstand.”  “Then 
explain  to  me,”  says  he.  “I  will  listen. 
Explain  how  you  know  that  God  talks  to 
you.”  The  mystic  answers,  “We  cannot 
explain.  We  know  because  we  know,” 
and  the  skeptic  laughs  and  says,  “I 
thought  so.”  But  how  can  he  ever  be 
taught?  He  will  not  try.  He  will  not 
submit  to  the  discipline.  He  will  not  go 
into  silence.  He  dreads  solitude,  es- 
pecially the  solitude  of  the  soul.  He  can- 
not hear  the  voice  of  God  unless  God 
thunders  at  him.  But  God  is  a Spirit,  and 
the  Spirit  breathes — whispers.  “He 
breathed  on  them.”  To  hear  God,  one 
must  be  quiet  enough  to  hear  a breath, 
and  they  that  will  not  be  quiet,  will  never 
hear. 

There  are  Oibjects  that  cannot  be  seen 
by  certain  eyes.  There  are  truths  that 
cannot  be  proved  to  certain  minds.  Mu- 
sic and  poetry,  for  example,  mean  noth- 
ing to  those  who  have  not  the  soul  to 
hear  and  to  feel.  So  of  the  voice  of  God. 
You  cannot  hear  it  unless  your  ear  is  at- 
tuned, unless  your  soul  is  trained.  You 
attune  the  ear  and  train  the  soul  in  soli- 
tude, in  reflection,  in  meditation,  in 
prayer. 


— 5 — 


FOURTH  DAY 

Waiting  on  G(M) 

IS  God  a slave  who  must  go  when  He  is 
sent  and  return  when  He  is  called? 
Men  say  to  a slave,  “Be  gone  I Out  of  my 
sight  I When  I need  thee,  I shall  call  thee, 
and  when  I call,  come  instantly.”  So  we 
dismiss  God  for  a day,  a week,  a year, 
and  we  expect  Him  to  leap  from  the 
ground  or  to  descend  from  the  sky  when 
we  clap  our  hands  or  call,  “Lord I Lord!” 

When  Jesus  was  anxious  to  speak  to 
Pilate,  Pilate  turned  his  back.  When, 
afterwards,  Pilate  spoke  to  Jesus,  he  got 
no  answer. 

One  of  the  hardest  sayings  in  all  the 
Scripture  is  that  of  Our  Lord  to  the  min- 
isters sent  by  the  rulers  and  Pharisees  to 
apprehend  Him:  “You  shall  seek  Me.  and 
shall  not  find  Me”  (John  vii.  34). 


FIFTH  DAY 

Impurity 


rIE  particular  malice  of  impurity  is  the 
profanation  of  the  temple  of  God.  No 
man  can  understand  it  unless  he  have  a 
touch  of  mysticism.  A matter-of-fact  per- 
son with  a tendency  toward  naturalism, 
if  not  materialism,  will  say  that  this  kind 
of  sin  is  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world,  a reminiscence  of  our  animal  or 
barbarian  or  savage  ancestry.  He  will 
say  that  we  have  come  up  through  ani- 
malism, and  that  we  have  not  yet  got  en- 
tirely into  a higher  grade  of  being.  We 
are  on  the  way,  but  still  we  are  animals. 
But  Revelation  tells  another  story.  We 
are  children  of  God.  We  are  the  temple 
of  God.  Our  bodies  are  endowed  with  a 
supernatural  dignity.  We  are  not  in  the 
animal  class.  We  are  in  a class  by  our- 
selves, midway  between  beasts  and  angels. 
“What  is  man  that  thou  art  mindful  of 
him?  . . . Thou  hast  made  him  a little  less 
than  the  angels,  thou  hast  crowned  him 
with  glory  and  honor”  (Ps.  viii.  5,  6). 
We  are  not  flesh  and  blood  alone.  We 
are  flesh  and  blood  and  mind  and  soul 
and  the  indwelling  God.  We  are  mem- 
bers of  the  mystic  Body  of  Christ.  Im- 
purity is  violation  of  a body  that  belongs 
to  Christ.  Its  malice,  so  understood,  is 
infinite.  “Shall  I then  take  the  members 
of  Christ,  and  make  them  the  members  of 
an  harlot?”  says  St.  Paul.  “God  forbid  I” 
(1  Cor.  vi.  15.) 


— 7 — 


SIXTH  DAY 

Calung  Good  Evil 


The  impure  justify  sin  and  scold  or 
ridicule  the  pure.  They  inject  im- 
purity into  art,  literature,  life.  To  them, 
it  is  joy,  gaiety.  It  is  nature.  It  is 
beauty.  On  the  other  hand,  purity,  they 
say,  is  prudery.  Modesty  is  an  affecta- 
tion. A saint  is  a kill-joy.  And  so  on  and 
so  on.  The  impure  really  believe  these 
things.  It  is  probably  a mistake  to  im- 
agine that  they  are  salving  their  con- 
sciences with  these  statements,  knowing 
them  to  be  false.  They  think  them  true. 
“Blessed  are  the  pure  of  heart,  for  they 
shall  see”;  cursed  are  the  impure,  for 
they  cannot  see.  Perhaps  they  will  never 
see.  What  can  be  done  with  them? 
Nothing,  perhaps,  until  the  fire  of  pas- 
sion burns  down  and  the  smoke  of  vice 
clears  away.  Then  they  may  turn  to  God 
and  offer  Him  a burned-out  body,  broken, 
incapable  of  passion,  and  a soul  embit- 
tered, disgusted,  disillusioned.  They 
turn  to  God  for  a possible  solace  and  for 
fear  of  a possible  Hell.  Is  this  religion? 


— 6 — 


SEVENTH  DAY 

The  Measure  of  Morality 

By  what  shall  we  measure  morality?  By 
the  dicta  of  theologians?  If  they  ac- 
quit us,  shall  we  account  ourselves  wholly 
virtuous?  Is  a sacramental  absolution  all 
that  we  desire?  Having  received  the  ab- 
solution can  we  be  free  and  happy  and 
satisfied,  or  shall  we  cry,  Amplius  lava 
me — “Wash  me  yet  more” — after  we  have 
been  cleansed  by  the  sacrament  of  for- 
giveness? 

“Christian  morality  is  no  mere  self-re- 
straint, no  mechanical  movement  within 
prescribed  rules,  no  mere  punctilious- 
ness, but  ardent  and  active,  exceeding 
duty  and  outstripping  requirement” 
(Ecce  Homo), 

The  slavish  Christian  asks,  “What  do 
the  theologians  say?  Is  it  venial  sin,  or 
mortal  sin,  or  imperfection,  or  no  sin  at 
all?  What  is  the  probable  opinion?  1 
shall  learn  that,  and  then  do  what  I may 
without  mortal  sin.”  What  an  abomina- 
tion that  a Christian  should  take  ad- 
vantage of  theology  to  outwit  God  I The 
Pharisees  followed  the  Talmud  in  place 
of  the  Word  of  God.  They  put  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  ancients  on  a par  with  the 
divine  Scripture,  or  above  it.  Shall  we 
seize  upon  casuistic  decisions  to  defeat 
or  to  avoid  the  good  pleasure  of  God? 
Has  Christ  taught  in  vain?  To  consult 
theologians  in  order  to  avoid  consulting 
God,  is  Phariseeism. 


EIGHTH  DAY 

The  Soul’s  Last  Chance 


The  most  terrible  crime  is  to  smother 
the  inspirations  of  the  indwelling 
God.  This  is  the  unpardonable  sin.  Con- 
science may  be  so  many  times  beaten 
down  that  finally  it  has  not  the  courage 
to  rise  and  speak.  Even  God  may  be- 
come discouraged.  Jesus  said,  ‘‘If  I speak 
to  you,  you  believe  not,”  so  He  was  si- 
lent. When  God  is  discouraged  and  gives 
no  more  inspirations,  when  He  grows 
weary  and  will  no  longer  say,  “Do  this,” 
or  “Do  that,”  then  probation  is  over,  the 
soul  is  lost,  and  eternal  darkness  has  be- 
gun. The  rest  of  life  is  only  prolixitas 
mortis,  the  delay  of  death.  The  unpar- 
donable sin  has  been  committed. 

This  is  the  most  horrible  risk  that  the 
habitual  sinner  takes.  Any  inspiration  of 
God  may  be  the  last.  The  warning  in 
conscience  may  never  be  repeated.  The 
last  whisper  of  Christ  dies  within  the  sin- 
ner’s soul.  He  will  never  hear  God  or 
conscience  again.  If  so,  he  imagines  that 
he  is  safe.  He  hears  no  rebuke,  he  feels 
no  compunction.  He  says,  “I  have  out- 
grown my  former  scrupulosity.  I am  no 
longer  so  narrow  in  my  views.  I am  be- 
come free.”  But  he  is  lost. 


— 10  — 


NINTH  DAY 

Hearing  the  Voice  of  God 

A MAN  practised  in  woodcraft,  out  of  a 
babel  of  sounds  in  a tropical  forest, 
will  recognize  any  one.  He  may  hear  the 
calls  of  a hundred,  a thousand,  different 
species  of  birds,  squawking,  hooting, 
whistling,  singing,  but  he  says,  “There  I 
listen  to  the  note  of  such  and  such  a 
bird.”  The  novice  strains  his  ears,  hut 
cannot  catch  the  particular  sound.  “T 
listen,”  says  he,  “hut  I cannot  recognize 
it.  How  can  you  know  it?”  And  the 
master  says,  “I  could  tell  that  note  if 
every  leaf  on  every  tree  had  a different 
voice  and  all  were  speaking.  I could  tell 
that  note  in  the  midst  of  any  tumult.” 

So,  the  man  who  knows  the  voice  of 
God,  hears  it  anywhere — in  the  midst  of 
crowded  streets,  at  an  entertainment,  on 
a battle  field,  in  his  soul,  even  when 
temptation  is  making  pandemonium 
within.  He  can  recognize  the  voice  of 
God  anywhere. 


--  11  — 


TENTH  DAY 

The  Truth  Only  in  Confession 


<^rpHOU,  O Lord,  didst  turn  me  round 

JL  into  my  own  sight.  I had  set  my- 
self, as  it  were,  upon  my  own  back,  be- 
cause I was  unwilling  to  see  myself,  and 
now  Thou  didst  place  me  before  my  own 
eyes,  so  that  I beheld  how  ugly  I was, 
how  deformed  and  filthy  and  spotted  and 
ulcerous.  I beheld  and  shuddered,  yet 
whither  could  I flee  from  myself?  Thou 
didst  force  my  eyes  to  gaze  upon  my  very 
features  so  that  I might  discover  and 
loathe  my  iniquity.  I knew  it,  but 
feigned  ignorance  and  winked  at  it  and 
forgot  it”  (St.  Augustine,  Confessions, 
viii.  7). 

The  primary  advantage  of  confession  is 
that  it  tells  us  the  truth  about  ourselves. 
It  is  like  a rehearsal  for  the  day  of  judg- 
ment. Nowhere  else  can  we  get  the  ac- 
tual truth.  Friends  flatter  us.  Enemies 
malign  us.  They  both  deceive  us.  We 
shall  never  see  ourselves  as  we  really  are, 
until  we  look  into  the  mirror  of  the  eyes 
of  God  on  the  day  of  our  particular  judg- 
ment. But  here  on  earth  we  can  antici- 
pate that  terrible  interview,  every  time 
we  practise  confession,  if  we  examine 
our  conscience  honestly,  and  accuse  our- 
selves unshrinkingly.  But  we  must  not 
“feign  ignorance,”  or  “wink  at  our  in- 
iquity.” 


-12- 


ELEVENTH  DAY 

Temptation 

‘‘WTATCH  ye,  and  pray  that  ye  enter 
f f not  into  temptation”  (Matt.  xxvi. 
41).  Generally,  we  place  the  emphasis 
upon  **watch  and  pray”  Why  not  some- 
times put  it  upon  the  other  words,  **that 
ye  enter  not”?  Once  we  are  actually  in 
temptation — deeply  in — it  may  be  too 
much  for  us.  Temptation  produces  a pe- 
culiar intoxication  of  the  mind,  a sort  of 
paralysis  of  the  will,  an  hypnosis  of  the 
soul,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  a diahoUcal 
recklessness,  and  sin  becomes  almost  in- 
evitable. It  is  better  to  stave  off  tempta- 
tion, not  to  “enter  in.” 

If,  however,  temptation  comes,  we  shall 
still  fight  our  hardest,  knowing  that  we 
can  always  win. 

The  advice  of  Polonius  to  Laertes  is 
not  bad,  for  a conflict  either  between 
man  and  man  or  between  man  and  the 
devil : 

Beware 

Of  entrance  to  a quarrel,  but  being  in, 
Bear’t  that  the  opposed  may  beware  of 
thee. 


■r 


— 13  — 


TWELFTH  DAY 

Preparation  Against  Temptation 

The  secret  of  success  in  the  conflict 
with  sin  is,  in  these  wise  words  of  Fa- 
ther Maturin : “We  know  well  enough 
what  is  definitely  right  and  what  is 
wrong,  but  there  is  something  else,  in  it- 
self neither  right  nor  wrong,  belonging  to 
the  debatable  land,  the  borderland  be- 
tween right  and  wrong,  the  region  neither 
of  light  nor  darkness,  but  of  twilight. 
The  soul  that  dwells  under  the  law  of  this 
land,  will  certainly  end  in  passing  over 
into  the  kingdom  of  darkness  and  sin. 
The  heat  of  the  battle  does  not  lie  in  the 
direct  conflict  with  evil,  but  with  things 
neither  right  nor  wrong.  The  man  who 
determines  he  will  not  do  what  is  posi- 
tively wrong,  but  will  do  everything  else 
that  he  wishes,  will  find,  in  the  long  run, 
that  he  cannot  stand  far  off  from  actual 
sin.” — Self-Knowledge  and  Self-Disci- 
pline, p.  96. 

The  moral,  therefore,  is  to  get  ready  for 
the  battle  before  the  battle  begins.  An 
enervated  soldier,  fat  and  soft  and  ac- 
customed to  luxury,  cannot  fight.  When 
the  rigor  of  discipline  is  applied  in  times 
of  peace,  he  may  protest,  “The  war  is  not 
on.  I shall  go  easy.”  The  answer  is  sim- 
ple: The  war  is  always  on.  They  win  in 
wartime  who  win  in  peacetime — prepara- 
tion for  battle  is  part  of  the  battle. 


— 14-^ 


THIRTEENTH  DAY 

Fighting  Temptation 

WHEN  a man  is  attacked,  he  must  de- 
fend himself  with  every  means  at 
hand.  The  soldier  in  the  trench  shoots 
his  rifle,  flings  hand-grenades,  bombs,  bits 
of  steel,  sticks,  stones;  he  jabs  with  his 
bayonet,  fights  with  hands,  feet,  teeth, 
anything,  everything.  So  when  the  devil 
attacks,  fight  him  with  anything  at  hand 
— with  reason,  with  shame,  with  defi- 
ance, with  the  name  of  Jesus,  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  with  the  remembrance  of  one’s 
dignity,  with  the  thought  of  confession, 
with  remembrance  of  the  altar-rail,  with 
anything,  everything — but  win  at  all 
hazards. 

The  devil  has  no  chivalry.  If  we  have 
a weak  spot,  he  will  attack  us  in  that 
spot.  If  while  we  fence  with  him,  he 
knocks  the  sword  from  our  hand,  he  will 
give  us  no  chance  to  recover  the  weapon. 
He  has  no  scruples,  no  principles,  no 
honor.  When  we  battle  with  Satan, 
there  is  no  time  for  a display  of  knightly 
courtesies.  Fight  him  relentlessly. 


— 15  — 


FOURTEENTH  DAY 

Confidence 


slothful  man  saith:  There  is  a 

A lion  without,  I shall  he  slain  in  the 
midst  of  the  streets”  (Prov.  xxii.  13).  In 
temptation  we  are  inclined  to  say,  “There 
is  a lion  within,  I shall  be  slain  if  I face 
him.” 

It  is  recorded  that  when  the  martyrs 
faced  the  lions  in  the  arena,  frequently 
the  lions  turned  tail  and  fled.  A wild- 
beast  hunter  has  said  that  any  animal  will 
run  from  a man,  if  the  man  is  unafraid. 
If  we  face  the  beast,  and  are  unafraid,  he 
will  slink  away.  Satan,  too,  is  a coward. 
Face  him  fearlessly  and  he  will  disap- 
pear. 

How  can  we  be  certain  of  ourselves? 
Only  if  God  be  in  the  soul.  “The  Lord  is 
my  light  and  my  salvation,  whom  shall  I 
fear?  ...  If  armies  in  camp  should  stand 
against  me,  my  heart  shall  not  fear”  (Ps. 
xxxvi.  1,  3). 


~ 16  — 


FIFTEENTH  DAY 

The  God  and  the  Brute  in  Human 
Nature 

The  question  is  asked,  “What  is  man? 

A brute  or  a god?”  The  answer  is, 
“Both.”  A certain  American  poet  prefers 
animals  to  men  because,  he  says,  the 
beasts  “do  not  complain  about  their  sins.” 
But  neither  do  they  boast  of  the  deity 
within  them.  The  brute  is  simple  enough. 
He  is  only  a brute.  But  man  is  complex. 
He  is  a brute  and  a god.  That  is  why  he 
complains  of  his  sins.  If  he  were  only  a 
god,  he  would  have  no  sin.  If  he  were 
only  a beast,  he  would  know  no  sin.  But 
he  is  both.  There  is  the  anguish.  There 
is  the  cause  of  strife  and  restlessness,  of 
divine  discontent. 

“I  am  a worm  and  no  man.”  “I  am  a 
child  of  God.”  Each  statement  alone  is 
false.  Both  statements  together  are  true. 
“Man  is  an  animal,”  is  false,  if  you  say 
nothing  more.  “Man  is  a spirit,”  is  false, 
if  you  say  nothing  more.  Put  the  two  to- 
gether— the  animal  and  the  spirit,  the 
beast  and  the  angel — and  you  have  that 
mysterious,  incomprehensible,  apparently 
impossible  combination  that  is  called 
man,  the  divine  clod,  the  spiritual  beast, 
the  celestial  clay,  infinite  nothingness, 
the  “paragon  of  animals,”  and  the  “quin- 
tessence of  dust.” 


— 17  — 


SIXTEENTH  DAY 

Not  Altogether  Bad 


IT  is  a mistake  in  spiritual  tactics,  and 
it  is  dishonor  to  God,  to  cringe  and  to 
cry,  “Oh  God,  there  is  no  good  in  me.  I 
am  altogether  bad.”  We  are  not  Calvin- 
ists. We  do  not  believe  in  total  de- 
pravity. If  a man  keeps  on  telling  him- 
self, and  telling  God,  that  he  is  totally 
bad,  he  will  make  himself  bad  by  auto- 
suggestion,  if  by  no  other  means.  And  in 
that  case,  when  he  falls,  he  will  be  in 
danger  of  saying,  “What  can  I expect  of 
myself?  I can  do  no  better.”  On  the 
other  hand,  if  he  believes  in  his  dignity 
as  a human  soul,  a child  of  God,  he  will 
not  fall  so  easily  nor  so  often,  and  if  he 
falls  he  will  be  shocked  quickly  back  into 
repentance.  He  will  recoil  from  sin  not 
merely  because  he  respects  himself,  but 
because  he  stands  in  awe  of  God  within 
him. 


-18  — 


SEVENTEENTH  DAY 

Lowering  the  Moral  Tone 

‘‘117’E  turn  away  at  first  in  disgust  and 
f T shrinking  from  sins  that  later  on 
enslave  us.  We  have  not  yet  been  suffi- 
ciently habituated  to  other  things  which 
relax  the  soul  and  weaken  the  voice  of 
conscience  and  lower  the  moral  tone'* 
(Father  Maturin).  There  is  the  secret  : 
‘‘lower  the  moral  tone.”  If  this  be  done, 
anything  may  happen,  and  when  it  hap- 
pens, it  will  not  seem  horrible.  Even 
ugly  sins  will  appear  beautiful.  A year 
ago,  ten  years  ago,  a man  would  have 
been  shocked  or  disgusted  at  the  very 
mention  of  them.  Today  he  not  only 
commits  them,  but  justifies  them.  His 
moral  tone  has  been  lowered. 

Physicians  tell  us  that  diseases  are 
caught  only  by  those  whose  vitality  is 
lowered.  Athletes  explain  defeat  by  say- 
ing, “I  was  out  of  condition.”  If  our 
spiritual  vitality  is  high,  sin  cannot  find 
a lod^ng  place  in  the  soul.  If  we  are  “in 
condition,”  Satan  himself  cannot  defeat 
us. 


— 19  — 


EIGHTEENTH  DAY 

Conscience 


Newman  calls  conscience  “the  aborigi- 
nal Vicar  of  Christ.”  It  is  that,  and 
more.  Even  the  Pope  has  less  authority 
than  conscience.  The  dictates  of  cob- 
science  are,  in  a true  sense,  the  dictates 
of  God.  It  is  conceivable  that  one  might 
obey  the  Vicar  of  Christ  only  when  he 
commands.  But  one  should  obey  God 
whether  He  commands  or  merely  sug- 
gests. What  folly  then  to  say,  “Con- 
science in  this  case  only  insinuates.  I 
may  disobey;  when  it  commands  great 
things,  I shall  obey.”  It  is  as  though  one 
said,  “God  gives  me  a hint,  a suggestion, 
or  expresses  a wish,  but  He  has  not  said, 
‘Do,’  or  ‘Do  not,’  ‘Thou  shalt,’  or  ‘Thou 
shalt  not,’  and  until  He  gives  me  a com- 
mandment or  a prohibition,  I shall  do  as 
I please.  I am  not  bound  to  heed  every 
wish  of  God.”  One  who  thinks  or  acts 
thus  has  no  idea  of  the  majesty  of  God — 
or  of  conscience. 


— 20  — 


NINETEENTH  DAY 

Sin  and  Peace 

The  sinner  cries,  ‘‘Peace!  peace!”  but 
there  is  no  peace.  He  has  tortured 
conscience,  and  in  turn,  conscience  tor- 
tures him.  There  might  be  peace  if  man 
could  be  dehumanized.  If  God  would 
only  say,  “You  act  like  a beast,  and  there- 
fore a beast  you  shall  be.  I extract  your 
conscience.  I leave  you  only  a brute.” 
But  no,  conscience  remains,  and  while 
conscience  remains,  there  can  be  no 
peace  in  sin. 

A man  may  reply,  “You  are  mistaken. 
I sin  and  sin  repeatedly,  and  yet  I feel 
no  unhappiness.  I am  content.”  We  re- 
tort, “You  are  abnormal,  sub-human.  You 
are  a freak  of  nature.  You  are  a mon- 
strosity, a terrible  curiosity,  a man  with- 
out a soul.”  For  a man  without  a con- 
science is  a man  without  a soul. 

He  may  be  content,  but  he  is  worse  off 
than  if  he  were  discontent.  Disconteni 
might  goad  him  to  virtue.  The  sting  ol 
conscience  is  evidence  that  God  has  no< 
abandoned  the  soul.  To  be  abandoned 
by  God,  is  to  begin  one’s  hell.  “Where 
Thou  art,  there  is  heaven,  and  where 
Thou  art  not,  there  is  death  and  grievous 
hell.” 


— 21  — 


£ 0^ 


TWENTIETH  DAY 

Sin  and  the  Religious  Nature 

Here  is  a curious  and  terrible  anomaly. 

One  may  have  a religious  tempera- 
ment, and  yet  be  immoral.  St.  Augustine 
was  essentially  religious,  and  yet  re- 
mained for  many  years  in  an  evil  life. 
One  even  greater  than  St.  Augustine,  King 
David,  was  passionately  religious.  In 
the  Psalms,  even  before  hi^  conversion, 
he  speaks  to  God,  he  thinks  aloud  to  God, 
discusses  everything  with  God,  and  yet 
he  fell  into  terrible  sin,  murder,  and  adul- 
tery. 

Those  who  are  accustomed  to  form 
snap  judgments  are  quick  to  cry  “hypo- 
crite” if  a man  professes  fine  principles, 
and  yet  lives  ignobly.  But  perhaps  he  is 
not  a hypocrite.  He  may  really  believe 
in  and  admire  the  very  highest  spiritual 
doctrine.  He  may  have  the  saints  for  his 
heroes.  He  may  love  and  desire  sanc- 
tity, and  yet  be  spasmodically,  if  not 
habitually,  sinful.  “The  spirit  is  willing, 
but  the  flesh  is  weak.”  For  virtue  and 
for  salvation,  something  more  than  a re- 
ligious temperament  is  necessary*  That 
“something  more”  is  the  constant  grace 
of  God. 


— 22  — 


TWENTY-FIRST  DAY 

The  Sting  of  Temptation 

rIERE  is  a horrible  fascination  about 
sin  even  while  the  will  is  rejecting  it. 
And  the  acme  of  the  agony  is  that  the 
fascination  is  not  simply  over  the  lower 
members.  If  the  will  and  the  reason  were 
solid  and  sure  against  the  rebellion  of  the 
flesh,  there  could  be  no  very  great  dan- 
ger. The  veins  might  run  with  liquid 
fire,  and  all  the  bodily  frame  feel  the 
fierce  heat  of  passion,  but  if  the  will  were 
whole-heartedly  against  sin,  the  tempta- 
tion would  be  insignificant.  But  the  will 
wills,  and  wills  not,  at  one  and  the  same 
time.  There  is  the  mystery  and  there  is 
the  torture. 

St.  Augustine  says:  “The  will  com- 
mands the  body  and  there  is  instant 
obedience.  The  mind  commands  the 
body  and  there  is  instant  rebellion.  The 
mind  commands  the  will,  and  though  it  is 
one  and  the  same,  it  will  not  hear.”  “The 
flesh  lusteth  against  the  spirit,  and  the 
spirit  against  the  flesh.”  That  were 
temptation  enough.  But  the  true  tempta- 
tion is  when  the  spirit  lusteth  against  the 
spirit. 


— 23  — 


3.^  -• 

TWENTY-SECOND  DAY 

Hired  Jesters 

IN  ancient  days,  kings  and  nobles  had 
their  court  fools,  to  jest  and  play 
pranks  when  there  was  danger  that  seri- 
ous thoughts  might  come;  and  we  today 
hire  buffoons  and  jesters,  and  we  pay 
them  well,  to  banter  away  every  serious 
thought.  Our  entertainments,  our  amuse- 
ments, are  part  of  the  conspiracy  to  pre- 
vent our  thinking  upon  life  and  death  and 
what  comes  after  death.  The  theaters  and 
dance  halls,  fashionable  restaurants  and 
cabarets,  are  not  frequented  by  those  who 
are  spontaneously  gay,  but  by  those  who 
are  gloomy.  They  seek  an  artificial 
means  of  dispelling  the  gloom.  They  fear 
a quiet  evening  at  home  almost  as  much 
as  they  would  dread  a day  of  spiritual 
retreat.  They  must  not  be  alone  with 
their  thoughts.  Hence  the  need  of  an 
army  of  actors  and  actresses,  and  “enter- 
tainers.” When  the  king  was  melan- 
choly, the  court  fool  was  to  make  him 
smile.  When  we  are  melancholy,  the 
hired  comedians  must  make  us  forget. 
Their  business  is  to  drive  away  “the  de- 
mon, thought.”  But  some  day  we  shall 
have  to  think.  Why  not  do  it  now? 


— 24  — 


TWEIYTY-THIRD  DAY 

“The  Children  of  the  Kingdom” 

WHEN  John  the  Baptist  upbraided  the 
Jews  and  threatened  them  with  pos- 
sible damnation,  they  retorted  indig- 
nantly, “We  are  the  children  of  Abra- 
ham.” But  John  the  Baptist  only  re- 
plied, “Children  of  Abraham  I I say  to 
you  that  God  is  able,  of  these  stones,  to 
raise  up  children  to  Abraham.”  And 
Christ  told  them,  “Many  shall  come  from 
the  east  and  the  west  and  shall  sit  down 
with  Abraham  and  Isaac  and  Jacob,  but 
the  children  of  the  kingdom  shall  be  cast 
out.”  Two  things  Christ  Our  Savior 
hated  particularly:  first,  hypocrisy,  and, 
second,  mechanical  religion.  The  sec- 
ond is  as  bad  as  the  first.  The  Pharisees 
were  guilty  of  both.  They  wore  their 
phylacteries  broad.  They  followed  the 
traditions  of  the  ancients.  They  fasted. 
They  were  rigorists  for  discipline.  Yet 
Jesus  told  them  that  the  harlots  would 
enter  the  kingdom  of  God  before  them. 

There  are  those  today  who  fancy  that 
their  salvation  is  secure,  because  they 
have  been  validly  baptized,  because  their 
brow  has  been  signed  with  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  because  they  attend  religious 
service  with  fair  regularity,  because  they 
make  their  Easter  duty,  and  because  they 
expect  to  be  anointed  with  oil  on  their 
deathbed.  But  if  they  neglect  “the 
weightier  things  of  the  law,”  justice, 
mercy,  charity,  purity,  their  fate  has  al- 
ready been  spoken.  The  harlots  shall  en- 
ter the  kingdom  of  heaven  sooner  than 
they. 


-25  — 


r 


TWENTY-FOURTH  DAY 

Those  Who  Will  Not  Think 

There  are  those  who  deny  or  ignore 
the  importance  of  human  life.  They 
have  no  philosophy.  They  practise  no 
religion.  To  them  human  existence  pre- 
sents no  problems.  They  have  never 
spent  a sleepless  night  or  even  one  in- 
tense moment  pondering  over  the  ques- 
tion of  their  eternal  destiny.  Some  of 
them  are  pleasure-lovers,  and  their  motto 
is,  Bum  vivimuSj  vivamus — “While  we 
live,  let  us  live.”  “Eat,  drink,  and  be 
merry.”  They  also  have  another  motto, 
whiVh  howpvpr  thpv  do  not  shout  aloud 
“whatever  you  do,  don’t  think.  Thought 
is  fatal  to  contentment.  If  you  would  be 
joyful,  don’t  think.”  To  such  as  these,  a 
time  like  Lent,  which  is  a time  for  seri- 
ous thought,  of  meditation  on  profound 
mysteries,  is  only  an  intrusion,  an  im- 
pertinence. They  will  have  none  of  it. 
Their  entertainments,  their  jollifications, 
their  reckless  amusements,  continue 
throughout  the  Lenten  season  as  at  other 
HmoQ  Vothiue  can  persuade  them  to 
stop  and  think. 


— 2h  — 


3J^' 


TWENTY-FIFTH  DAY 


The  Individual  Judgment 

SINCE  the  war,  many  books  have  been 
printed,  and  sermons  and  lectures  de- 
hvered,  upon  the  morality  of  nations.  It 
has  become  customary  for  men  to  speak 
of  nations  as  if  they  were  individuals;  as 
if  virtue  and  vice,  and  free-will  and  re- 
sponsibility, could  be  predicated  of  a na- 
tion as  of  an  individual.  Men  speak  of 
the  “Responsibility  of  Germany,”  “The 
Soul  of  Russia,”  “The  Fate  of  Austria,” 
“The  Crimes  of  England,”  “The  Destiny 
of  Ireland,”  and  so  on.  Now  all  these 
phrases  are  only  metaphorically  true. 
Edmund  Burke,  the  great  statesman,  de- 
clared that  you  must  not  make  an  indict- 
ment against  a whole  nation.  Likewise, 
you  must  not  impute  resxionsibility  or 
guilt  or  vice  or  virtue  to  a whole  nation. 
Neither  Russia  nor  England  will  be 
judged  by  the  eternal  Judge.  Neither 
France  nor  Germany  will  be  called  upon 
to  give  an  account  of  its  stewardship. 
But  every  individual  in  every  nation  wiD 
be  judged.  We  shall  never  reform  the 
world  by  pooling  our  responsibilities,  by 
imputing  sin  to  a nation.  But  if  we  can 
persuade  every  individual  that  he,  per- 
sonally, is  accountable  before  God  on  the 
day  of  judgment,  then  indeed  shall  the 
face  of  the  earth  be  changed. 


TWENTY-SIXTH  DAY 

Character 

Ralph  waldo  Emerson,  one  of  the 

chief  spokesmen  for  naturalism,  says: 
“Every  landscape  I behold,  every  friend 
I meet,  every  act  I perform,  every  pain  I 
suffer,  leaves  me  a different  man  than 
they  found  me.”  We  Christians  go  in- 
finitely beyond  such  philosophers  as 
Emerson.  We  say,  not  only  that  all  these 
experiences  leave  us  different  than  they 
found  us,  but  that  they  have  eternal  conse- 
quences. All  that  we  do  or  think  or  suf- 
fer in  life  not  only  makes  or  unmakes 
our  character,  but  determines  our  des- 
tiny. Every  prayer  we  say,  or  refuse  to 
say,  every  good  inspiration  we  accept  or 
reject,  every  temptation  we  endure,  all 
our  successes  and  failures,  our  victories 
and  defeats,  are  written  with  a “pen  of 
iron  and  the  point  of  a diamond”  in  the 
fiber  of  our  souls,  and  on  this  written 
record  we  shall  be  judged. 

On  the  day  of  judgment  God  will  not 
ask,  “What  have  you  done?”  but  “What 
are  you?”  If  we  know  what  a man  is, 
we  know  something  infinitely  more  im- 
portant. To  do  something  is  good  advice. 
To  be  something  is  better.  We  shall  be 
saved  or  lost  not  by  accident,  not  by 
magic,  not  by  force  of  circumstances,  but 
by  what,  with  God’s  grace,  we  have  made 
of  ourselves. 


— 28  — 


TWENTY-SEVENTH  DAY 

The  Indelible  Record 


IF  a man,  in  the  course  of  a speech  in 
court  or  in  Congress,  speaks  a word  in 
passion  and  later  retracts  and  begs  that 
the  word  be  counted  as  not  said,  it  may 
be  expunged  from  the  record.  But  there 
is  no  expunging  from  the  ^eternal  record. 
The  recording  angel  says  curtly,  like  Pi- 
late, Quod  scripsi,  scripsi — “What  I have 
written,  I have  written.”  From  the  very 
beginning  of  the  use  of  reason  until  the 
moment  of  our  last  sigh,  everything  that 
we  have  done  and  thought  and  felt  and 
suffered,  is  recorded,  and  on  the  day  of 
judgment  our  fate  shall  depend  upon  that 
record.  Some  one  has  said  wisely,  “Sow 
an  act  and  reap  a habit,  sow  a habit  and 
reap  a destiny.”  This  is  good  Catholic 
doctrine.  There  is  no  other  doctrine  that 
makes  life  or  character  so  important.  We 
impute  an  eternal,  an  infinite,  value  to 
character. 


— 29  — 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  DAY 

The  Meaning  of  Life 

r)  judge  from  the  way  we  spend  our 
days,  life  might  be  only  a comedy. 
Throughout  the  year,  we  pass  the  time, 
working  and  playing,  eating  and  drink- 
ing, and  making  merry,  as  if  these  were 
the  sum  total  of  the  things  that  concern 
us;  as  if  our  existence  upon  this  earth 
had  no  very  profound  meaning;  as  if  life 
were  indeed  a comedy,  marred  occasion- 
ally by  the  intrusion  of  some  painful 
episodes,  but  generally  pleasant  and  sure 
to  end  happily.  The  truth  is  that  life  is 
tragic.  We  know  that  best  when  we  are 
alone,  alone  with  God. 

The  life  that  appears  upon  the  surface 
is  a sham.  The  soul-life,  the  inner  life, 
the  life  of  mental  and  spiritual  struggle, 
is  terribly  real.  Its  considerable  and  in- 
conclusive victories,  its  tragic  failures, 
and  the  always  impending  possibility  of 
final  disaster,  make  even  the  most  prosaic 
life  dramatic,  if  not  tragic. 

As  with  life,  so  with  religion.  Super- 
ficially, our  religion  seems  to  be  a mat- 
ter of  routine,  of  form,  of  ceremony  and 
regular  observance.  In  the  lives  of  some 
it  even  appears  to  be  i.  matter  of  play, 
of  enjoyment,  a high  sort  of  pleasure. 
But,  fundamentally,  religion  is  solemn 
and  awful.  The  basic  fact  of  our  faith 
is  a hideous  tragedy,  the  Crucifixion.  In 
the  Lenten  season  we  look  beneath  the 
surface  of  life,  delve  deeper  down  into 
profound  mystery,  into  the  suffering  and 
death  of  the  Son  of  God. 


— 30  — 


TWENTY-NINTH  DAY 

Salvation  as  a Gamble 

SOME  seem  to  imagine  that  we  are  saved 
or  lost  by  chance.  Salvation  is  good 
luck.  Damnation  is  bad  luck. 

Remember  the  legend  of  the  sinner  who 
fled  from  the  plague  in  Florence,  lifting 
up  his  voice  and  crying  out:  “I  have  out- 
witted Thee,  Domeneddio”  But  he  came 
back  too  soon  to  the  pest-ridden  city,  fell 
ill,  and  on  his  deathbed  tried  out:  ‘Thou 
hast  outwitted  me,  DomeneddTo**  He 
I played  a game  of  chance  against  God, 
i and  lost.  Some  moderns  seem  to  have 
1 the  same  idea.  “I  may  sin,”  they  say, 
“but  if  I get  to  confession  and  receive 
' absolution  before  anything  happens  to 
me,  I shall  be  saved.  I may  go  about  the 
‘ streets  in  the  state  of  mortal  sin.  If  I 
meet  with  an  accident,  I shall  he  damned; 
but,  barring  accident,  I shall  be  saved.” 
“Take  a chance,”  is  their  motto. 

We  can  understand  a gambler  staking 
a thousand  dollars  on  the  turn  of  a wheel, 
or  the  color  of  a card;  we  can  understand 
the  speculator  staking  a year’s  earnings 
or  a fortune,  on  the  rise  or  the  fall  of  a 
market;  we  can  understand  an  emperor 
risking  his  throne  on  the  battlefield.  But 
what  of  the  man  who  will  risk  his  ever- 
lasting soul  in  a gamble  against  God  or 
against  the  devil? 

But  what  a curious  concept  of  salva- 
tion, and  of  damnation.  Salvation  is  not 
I to  be  had  by  luck.  It  is  an  abiding  con- 
1 dition  of  soul.  It  is  achieved  not  by  ac- 
cident, but  by  constant  strife,  by  repeated 
i victory,  by  permanent  character. 


— 31  — 


THIRTIETH  DAY 

Death 

Suppose  it  were  said,  “You  shall  make 
ready  for  a journey.  You  shall  start 
immediately.  You  shall  make  no  stops. 
You  shall  continue  straight  on  to  your 
destination,  and  when  you  arrive  at  your 
destination,  you  shall  die.”  Suppose?  It 
is  no  supposition.  We  have  begun  the 
journey.  We  are  on  our  way.  We  shall 
make  no  stops.  • We  shall  arrive  more 
quickly  than  we  think  at  our  destinatiom. 
And  death  is  our  destination. 

We  shudder  at  the  thought  of  a con- 
demned criminal  counting  off  his  days  on 
a calendar  hung  upon  the  wall  of  his  cell. 
So  many  days  remaining,  and  again  so 
many  days — and  so  few!  The  condemned 
criminal  knows  how  many  days  remain 
to  him.  When  he  checks  off  a day,  he 
realizes  fully  what  it  means.  We  do  not 
know  how  many  days  remain  to  us.  And 
when  we  come  to  the  end  of  a day,  we 
turn  the  page  of  our  calendar  without 
any  realization  of  what  it  means.  Yet 
we  may  be  nearer  to  the  end  of  our  cal- 
endar than  the  man  in  the  death  cell. 
The  criminal  adds  and  subtracts  hours 
and  minutes  and  seconds.  Our  hours  and 
minutes  and  seconds  are  numbered.  Says 
Our  Savior,  “The  hairs  of  your  head  are 
numbered.” 


— 32  — 


THIRTY-FIRST  DAY 

Sin  Is  Slavery 

Almost  everyone  who  sins,  claims  to 
do  so  in  the  name  of  freedom.  ‘T  am 
my  own  master,  I plan  my  own  life,  1 
shall  do  what  I please.  No  one  shall  pre- 
vent me.  Am  I not  free?  Is  not  my  life 
my  own?  I will  not  be  bound  with  re- 
strictions, rules,  regulations,  command- 
ments.” 

But  listen  to  such  a one  five  years,  ten 
years,  twenty  years  hence.  Sickening  of 
sin,  he  would  return  to  God.  His  spirit- 
ual director  says  to  him,  “Be  strong.  As- 
sert your  independence.  Break  away 
from  evil  habits.  Stand  erect.  Stiffen 
your  moral  backbone.  Set  your  jaw 
firm.  Defy  the  devil.  Be  free.”  And  he 
replies : “Father,  you  know  not  what  you 
are  asking.  Sin  has  enchained  me. 
Habit  has  enslaved  me.  I cannot  assert 
myself.  I have  tried  and  have  failed 
again  and  again.  I have  lost  confidence. 
My  courage  is  broken.  I am  a slave.” 
Sin  is  not  freedom.  Sin  is  slavery. 


— 33  — 


THIRTY-SECOND  DAY 

Hell 


Let  the  word  stand.  It  was  spoken  by 
Our  Savior.  We  cannot  retract  it. 
We  will  not  apologize  for  it.  Naturally, 
men  do  not  like  the  word.  But  our  liking 
or  our  disliking  can  neither  create  nor 
annihilate  a fact.  Men  deny  hell.  But 
they  also  denied  Christ.  Christ  was  not 
false  because  men  denied  Him.  They 
deny  God,  but  God  does  not  wither  away. 
They  deny  sin.  They  cry,  “There  is  no 
sin.  There  is  no  sin.”  But  sin  remains, 
as  big  as  a mountain.  You  cannot 
frighten  away  sin  with  a loud  cry.  You 
cannot  demolish  hell  by  denying  it. 

Dives,  the  rich  man  in  the  Gospel,  did 
not  believe  in  hell.  He  believed  in  eat- 
ing and  drinking  and  ' king  merry.  He 
believed  in  good  things  nd  a good  time, 
but  when  he  died,  says  Our  Savior,  he 
was  “buried  in  hell.”  Then  he  cried  out, 
‘T  am  tormented  in  this  flame.  Send 
Lazarus  that  he  may  dip  the  tip  of  his 
finger  in  water  to  cool  my  tongue.”  Abra- 
ham replied,  “Between  us  and  you  there 
is  fixed  a great  chaos.”  Still  he  cries 
again,  “O  Father,  send  him  to  my  father’s 
house,  for  I have  five  brothers,  that  he 
may  testify  unto  them  lest  they  also  come 
into  this  place  of  torments.”  But  Abra- 
ham again  replied,  “They  have  Moses  and 
the  prophets.  If  they  hear  not  Moses  and 
the  prophets,  neither  will  they  believe,  if 
one  rise  again  from  the  dead.” 


— 34 


THIRTY.TfflRD  DAY 

The  Courage  of  Christ 

CHRIST  loved  to  call  Himself  the 
“Lamb  of  God/’  but  He  was  also  the 
‘TJon  of  the  tribe  of  Juda/’  Courageous, 
fearless,  uncompromising,  absolutely  self- 
I consistent,  incapable  of  being  brow- 

i beaten,  unabashed  before  kings,  unflinch- 
ing when  in  the  hands  of  bloodthirsty 
barbarians.  He  flung  out  His  anathemas 
against  those  in  high  places,  pointing  the 
finger  at  them,  calling  them  by  name. 
He  was  incorrigibly  reckless  about  His 
1 own  safety.  He  never  apologized.  He 
I never  recanted.  On  trial  for  His  life  be- 
j fore  a vacillating  governor,  He  might 

have  had  His  freedom,  if  He  had  simply 
opened  His  mouth  and  demanded  justice. 
The  Roman  would  have  been  compelled 
! to  give  Him  justice.  But  Jesus  uttered 
no  plea.  He  was  stripped  and  whipped, 
as  a foretaste  of  the  tortures  in  store  for 
Him,  but  He  never  whimpered.  True,  He 
uttered  a cry  of  anguish  in  the  garden. 
But  it  was  sin,  not  torture,  that  wrung 
k that  cry  from  His  heart.  There  is  no 
record  of  any  cry  when  He  came  to  the 
r top  of  the  Hill  of  Calvary  and  was  bidden 

I*  to  lie  down  and  be  nailed  to  the  wood. 

The  burly  Roman  soldiers  might  have 
learned  a lesson  in  bravery  from  Him. 

His  example  has  been  the  inspiration 
of  all  the  martyrs.  Young  girls  and  boys 
in  the  amphitheater  were  braver  than  the 
noblest  Romans.  Jesus  is  the  “strength 
of  martyrs.” 


— 35 


THIRTY-FOURTH  DAY 

The  Terrible  Meek 

The  character  of  Christ  is  paradoxical. 
He  is  meek  and  humble  and  non-re- 
sisfting.  But  He  is  unyielding  as  adamant. 
Any  sinner  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem 
might  hoot  at  Him,  and  arouse  not  resent- 
ment, but  pity.  The  thief  on  the  cross 
could  blaspheme  against  Him,  and  be 
granted  paradise  upon  repentance.  It 
might  have  seemed  to  some,  that  Jesus 
was  absurdly  mild.  But  no  one  could 
intimidate  Him.  Neither  Pilate  nor  Herod 
could  overawe  Him.  Perhaps  the  reason 
that  Pilate  “went  out,*’  was  that  he  was 
withering  under  the  glance  of  the  forlorn 
Nazarene.  He  could  not  bear  the  look  in 
the  Savior’s  eye.  As  for  Herod,  he  could 
not  even  persuade  Jesus  to  speak  a word. 
Jesus  was  not  uneasy.  But  the  King  and 
the  Governor  were  both  in  dismay. 

The  saints,  particularly  the  martyrs, 
are  like  Christ.  They  are  as  gentle  as 
doves,  and  as  courageous  as  tigers.  Face 
to  face  with  death,  they  make  no  plea 
for  pity.  They  laugh  in  the  face  of  an 
Emperor.  They  spit  on  the  statues  of  the 
gods.  With  eighty  thousand  pagans  in 
the  Circus  Maximus  howling  at  them, 
they  do  not  even  blanch.  They  are  mas- 
ters of  the  Emperor,  and  of  the  mob. 


— 36  — 


THIRTY-FIFTH  DAY 

Peter 

rpHERE  may  be  those  who  claim  to  feel 
A secure  against  mortal  sin.  They  are 
offended  at  the  bare  supposition  that  they 
may  possibly  be  damned.  They  say:  “I 
need  not  be  threatened  with  hell-fire  and 
damnation.  I am  not  to  be  bulldozed.  I 
am  no  criminal.  There  need  be  no  fear 
of  my  going  astray.” 

The  answer  is  Peter.  Prince  of  the 
Apostles,  first  Pope,  chosen  of  God — yet 
he  swore  before  high  heaven — and  three 
times — ^that  he  never  knew  Jesus  Christ  I 
“The  cedars  of  Lebanon  have  fallen. 
Stars  have  fallen  from  heaven.  They 
whose  works  seemed  praiseworthy  have 
fallen  to  the  very  lowest.  They  that  did 
eat  the  Bread  of  angels,  have  been  found 
contented  with  the  husks  that  were 
thrown  to  the  swine.”  “Who  art  thou. 
0 man,  that  thou  dost  glory?” 


— b?  — 


THIRTY-SIXTH  DAY 

Judas 

The  cup  of  Our  Savior  was  filling. 

Every  drop  was  bitterer  than  the  one 
before.  Loneliness,  discouragement,  dis- 
appointment, profound  sadness,  had  set- 
tled down  upon  His  heart.  Now  comes  a 
friend,  a disciple,  one  who  had  walked 
with  Him,  talked  with  Him,  enjoyed  His 
confidence,  who  had  reclined  at  table 
with  Him.  The  Lord  had  been  seeking 
sympathy.  Has  Judas  come  to  assure  Him 
of  support?  The  Lord  had  been  craving 
the  touch  of  a human,  hand,  longing  for 
the  embrace  of  some  one  who  loved  Him. 
Has  Judas  come  to  console  Him? 

Judas  has  come,  but  his  handclasp  is 
the  clammy  touch  of  the  traitor,  his  kiss 
is  the  kiss  of  a viper.  In  place  of  a word 
of  comfort,  he  speaks  the  terrible  saluta- 
tion of  the  hypocrite,  “Hail,  Rabbi  I” 
Judas  has  received  his  retribution : all 
the  world  damns  Judas.  And  it  would 
seem  that  there  was  only  one  Judas  in  the 
history  of  mankind.  Is  there  only  one? 
Only  one  who  has  sat  at  the  feet  of 
Christ,  looked  into  His  eyes,  called  Him 
“Lord”  and  “Master,”  only  one  whose 
lips  have  been  moistened  with  the  Pre- 
cious Blood  in  Holy  Communion,  only 
one  whose  tongue  has  been  touched  and 
hallowed  by  the  flesh  of  Jesus,  only  one 
who  has  saluted  Him,  “My  Lord  and  my 
God,”  and  then  has  played  the  part  of  a 
traitor? 


— 3S  — 


fd 


THIRTY-SEVENTH  DAY 

The  Conflict  for  Chastity 

rptHE  interior  conflict  is  particularly 
A stern  in  matters  that  pertain  to  chas- 
tity. The  strongest  of  human  passions  is 
love.  And  even  when  perverted,  it  still 
remains  the  strongest  of  passions.  When 
love  is  pure,  there  is  nothing  nobler. 
When  corrupted,  there  is  nothing  more 
base — Corruptio  optimi  pessima.  Love 
leads  to  purity  or,  under  aberration,  to 
impurity.  We  would  go  through  fire  and 
water  to  indulge  passion.  We  would 
brave  the  devil  to  overcome  passion. 
Strange  anomaly,  strange  contradiction! 
Our  nature  drives  us  toward  sin,  but  the 
same  nature  shames  us  away  from  sin. 

The  nobler  nature  and  the  baser  nature 
may  fight  interminably,  and  with  tragic 
results,  unless  the  nobler  nature  be  re- 
enforced by  divine  grace.  Then  the  out- 
come need  never  be  in  question. 


— 39  — 


THIRTY-EilGHTH  DAY 

Civilization  Through  Mary 

CHRISTIAN  civilization  consists  chiefly 
in  the  refinement  of  manners  and  the 
purification  of  morals:  the  suppression  of 
brutality  and  of  debauchery.  Pagan  civi- 
lization is  different  from  the  Christian 
chiefly  in  two  things,  cruelty  and  im- 
purity. It  is  a significant  fact  that  those 
two  vices  are  always  companions.  The 
impure  are  always  cruel  like  Herod  and 
Caligula.  Gladiatorial  combats  and  Lu- 
percalian  orgies  always  go  together. 
''Voluptuousness  is  not  barren.  It  brings 
forth  a daughter,  Ferocity.”  Lust  is  more 
fruitful  in  murders  and  suicides  than  any 
other  passion,  not  excepting  ^eed.  True 
civilization  means  the  annihilation  or — 
if  annihilation  be  impossible — the  mini- 
mizing of  lust  and  cruelty  in  all  their 
forms.  Grant  that,  and  we  can  see  the 
great  wisdom  of  the  Catholic  Church  in 
setting  before  mankind  the  example  of 
Mary,  the  Mother  of  Jesus.  She  would 
civilize  us  and  Christianize  us  by  gentle- 
ness and  purity. 


THIRTY-NINTH  DAY 

Hell 

People  say  that  hell  cannot  be,  for  it 
is  too  terrible.  Let  us  suppose  that 
some  second  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  awak- 
ened from  a long  sleep  during  the  World 
War,  and  suppose  that  he  came  down 
from  the  mountains,  into  the  midst  of  the 
crowds  standing  about  a war  bulletin, 
f and  asked,  “What’s  up?”  Some  patient 
citizen  takes  the  poor  ignoramus  aside 
and  explains  to  him:  “The  great  war  is 
, on.  All  of  Europe,  and  a great  part  of 

; Asia  and  the  ends  of  the  earth,  are  blaz- 

iing  with  warfare.  This  is  no  petty  Revo- 
lutionary War  or  Civil  War  or  Napoleonic 
War.  It  is  a World  War,  raging  along  a 
line  of  hundreds  of  miles  in  the  east  and 
in  the  west.  There  are  eight  to  ten  mil- 
lion men  in  one  army,  and  twelve  to  four- 
teen million  men  in  the  other.  Warfare 
is  covering  the  earth  and  the  sea  and  the 
sky;  even  the  waters  under  the  earth  are 
filled  with  death-dealing  engines.  Cities 
are  bombarded  from  the  sky;  towns  and 
villages  swept  off  the  map  with  great 
shells  sent  from  sixty  miles  away;  tens  of 

(thousands  of  corpses  lying  unburied  in 
No  Man’s  Land,  where  they  putrefy  and 
; scatter  pestilence.”  The  new  Rip  Van 
Winkle  would  probably  say:  “It  cannot 
be.  It  is  too  terrible.  There  is  no  war.” 


— 41  — 


FORTIETH  DAY 

The  Sins  of  thf.  World 

HOW  quickly,  how  easily,  how  smooth- 
ly we  say  that  phrase,  “the  sins  of 
the  world.”  How  utterly  nothing  it 
means  to  us.  But  if  we  could  look  out, 
not  upon  the  whole  world,  but  upon  one 
city,  just  for  one  night — nay,  one  moment 
of  one  night  — what  should  we  see? 
Upon  the  streets,  unfortunate  creatures, 
leering,  and  luring  souls  into  unmention- 
able depravity.  In  a thousand  rendez- 
vous of  vice,  all  manner  of  debauchery. 
In  theaters  and  dance  halls,  indecency 
rampant.  Unfaithful  husbands,  breaking 
the  troth  that  was  plighted  before  the  al- 
tar of  Christ. 

Not  only  impurity,  but  cruelty,  “man’s 
inhumanity  to  man,”  that  has  made 
countless  thousands  mourn.  The  unbe- 
lievable savagery  of  the  human  heart  man- 
ifest in  war  and  in  peace. 

Irreligion.  Millions  of  men  and  wom- 
en, ignoring  God,  denying  Him,  or  blas- 
pheming against  Him.  Nineteen  cen- 
turies after  Christ,  myriads  of  men  who 
never  say,  “My  God,  my  Savior,  my 
Jesus.” 

Not  only  impurity,  and  cruelty,  and  ir- 
religion, but  a world  of  other  sins.  Saints 
have  swooned  at  the  imagination  of  it. 
Priests  in  the  confessional  have  turned 
sick  at  heart  when  some  infinitesimal 
fragments  of  it  were  whispered  in  their 
ears.  But  there  was  Jesus  on  that  night 
in  Gethsemane,  saturated  with  the  sin  of 
the  world;  broken-hearted;  crushed  to- 
tally. 


— 42  — 


FORTY-FIRST  DAY 

Gethsemane 

you  here  till  I go  yonder  and 
pray,”  said  Jesus,  and  He  began  to 
be  sorrowful  and  to  be  sad.  And  He  said, 
“My  soul  is  sorrowful  even  unto  death. 
Sit  you  here  and  watch  with  Me,”  and  He 
went  forward  a little  and  fell  on  His  face 
and  prayed,  “Father,  if  it  is  possible,  let 
this  chalice  pass,”  and  He  cometh  and 
findeth  His  disciples  sleeping,  and  He 
saith  to  them,  “Could  you  not  watch  one 
hour  with  Me?”  Observe  that  we  are 
called  upon  to  pity  our  God.  Jesus  had 
always  been  the  master  of  Himself  and 
all  about  Him.  He  had  always  been 
easily  in  control  of  men  and  of  nature, 
serene,  calm,  self-confident.  But  now  the 
spirit  that  never  had  quailed,  has  given 
way.  The  lips  that  never  before  had 
murmured,  are  open  with  a cry  of  an- 
guish. He  that  had  always  comforted  the 
disciples,  seeks  comfort  from  them.  He 
is  restless  with  anguish.  He  kneels  and 
He  rises.  He  goes  forward  and  returns. 
He  flings  Himself  on  the  ground.  He 
cries  out  to  heaven,  asking  if  the  chalice 
may  even  yet  be  snatched  away.  He 
rises,  He  turns,  gropes  around  in  the 
darkness,  feeling  for  the  touch  of  a hu- 
man hand,  listening  for  the  sound  of  a 
human  voice  to  console  Him.  “He  look- 
eth  for  some  one  to  have  pity  on  Him 
and  there  was  no  man.”  From  man  He 
turns  to  God  and  from  God  He  turns 
again  to  man,  and  there  is  no  comfort 
either  from  God  or  from  man. 


— 43  — 


FORTY-SECOND  DAY 

The  Bloody  Sweat 

^‘ITIS  sweat  became  as  drops  of  blood 
XI  trickling  down  upon  the  ground/* 
No  lash,  no  scourge  upon  His  back,  no 
crown  of  thorns  upon  His  head,  no  brutal 
fist  had  crashed  against  His  face,  no 
^word  had  pierced  His  side,  no  spikes 
were  in  His  hands  or  feet,  no  one  had 
touched  Him — yet  He  was  bleeding.  The 
concentrated  sin  of  the  world,  invisible, 
intangible,  had  taken  Him  in  its  power- 
ful grip  and  crushed  Him  until  His  heart 
broke,  and  the  blood  oozed  out  from  His 
\reins,  out  through  the  pores  of  His  skin, 
staining  His  garments  and  moistening  the 
soil  of  the  garden. 


— 44  — 


FORTY-THIRD  DAY 

Pilate 

WE  say  that  Pilate  was  a coward.  It 
may  be  that  we  do  him  wrong.  Per- 
haps there  was  no  hero  that  ever  livea 
who  could  have  held  out  against  the  mob 
that  day.  A mob  is  always  a frightful 
thing.  In  a mob,  men  are  perhaps  liter- 
ally mad,  but  on  that  day  Pilate  was  deal- 
ing with  something  even  worse  than  a 
blood-craving  mob.  He  was  trying  to 
stand  against  all  hell.  “This  is  your  hour, 
and  the  power  of  darkness,”  Jesus  had 
said,  and  there  was  awful  meaning  to  His 
words.  The  gates  of  hell  were  opened, 
and  the  demons,  though  unseen,  swarmed 
among  the  frantic  Jews.  There  was 
something  preternatural  about  the  cries 
that  broke  against  the  stone  walls  of  the 
palace  of  Pilate.  We  have  never  really 
heard  “the  cry  of  a lost  soul.”  But  it 
may  be  that  Pilate  heard  the  cries  of 
myriads  of  demons  that  afternoon.  It 
was  hell’s  high  holiday  and  every  demoE 
was  in  Jerusalem.  The  voices  of  men 
and  devils  mingled,  and  the  result  was 
enough  to  chill  the  heart  of  even  the  all- 
powerful  and  all-courageous  God.  When 
Pilate  heard  that  shrill,  Cruciflgel  Cruci- 
fige!  he  must  have  said:  “These  sounds 
are  not  the  sounds  of  human  voices. 
They  are  unearthly  and  diabolical.  I can- 
not withstand  the  fury  of  hell.”  He  won- 
ders and  shudders  and  surrenders.  “Take 
Him,”  he  says.  “Take  Him  and  crucifv 
Him.” 


FORTY-FOURTH  DAY 

Nature  Elevated  by  Holy  Communion 

ST.  AUGUSTINE  has  a very  significant 
sentence  that  describes  the  chief  ef- 
fect of.  Holy  Communion.  “Thou  shall 
not  change  Me  into  thine  own  substance, 
as  thou  changes!  the  food  of  thy  flesh,  but 
thou  shall  be  changed  into  Mine”  (Con- 
fessions,  vii.  10).  Tennyson  says  in 
Locksley  Hall,  speaking  to  one  who  had 
thrown  herself  away  upon  an  unworthy 
companion,  “The  grossness  of  his  nature 
shall  have  power  to  drag  thee  down.” 
In  the  Holy  Eucharist,  the  grossness  of 
our  nature  shall  not  have  power  to  drag 
God  down.  The  divinity  of  His  nature 
shall  have  power  to  lift  us  up.  The 
Stronger  elevates  the  weaker. 

Man,  the  highest  of  creatures  upon  the 
earth,  takes  to  himself  the  herbs  of  the 
earth,  the  grains  of  the  field,  the  fruits  of 
the  trees.  They  become  part  of  him. 
They  become  alive  with  a life  that  is  hu- 
man. They  have  been  elevated  to  a scale 
of  being  beyond  their  own.  In  Holy  Com- 
munion God  takes  unto  Himself  our  poor 
human  nature,  absorbs  it,  assimilates  it  to 
His  own,  imparts  to  it  a life  that  is  supe- 
rior to  its  own  kind  of  life.  The  prayer 
at  the  Offertory  in  the  Mass  says  beauti- 
fully, “0  God  Who  hast  most  wonderfully 
created  human  nature  and  hast  still  more 
wonderfully  restored  it,  grant  that  by  this 
mystery  of  the  mingling  of  the  water  with 
the  wine,  we  may  be  made  partakers  of 
His  divinity.  Who  became  partaker  of  our 
humanity,  Jesus  Christ,  Thy  Son,  Our 
Lord.” 


— 46  — 


/ 

V 

f£ 

FORTY-FIFTH  DAY 

Calvary 

The  contemplation  of  Calvary  is  heart- 
breaking. The  very  name  Golgotha 
connotes  a world  of  woe.  The  ghastly 
deeds  done  upon  the  hill  outside  of  Jeru-. 
Salem  are  like  a nightmare  to  devoted 
Christians.  Even  to  the  imagination  the 
Crucifixion  is  a hideous  thing.  The 
swish  of  scourges  upon  naked  flesh,  the 
spatter  of  blood,  the  demoniacal  cries  of 
the  mob  of  fanatics  and  murderers,  the 
sound  of  the  crunching  of  nails  driven 
powerfully  into  human  flesh  and  sinews, 
the  inhuman  shout  of  triumph  when  their 
Victim  was  nailed  to  His  cross,  the  crude, 
coarse  jesting,  the  blasphemous  banter,  all 
the  unknown,  incredible  cruelty  of  an 
Oriental  mob — it  is  enough  to  make  the 
heart  stand  still  with  horror. 

But  we  have  no  right  to  shrink  from 
witnessing  the  tragedy  of  Calvary.  If  we 
know  not  Calvary,  we  know  not  Christ. 
We  dare  not,  like  cowardly  Christians, 
omit  the  cross  from  our  Christianity. 
God  forbid  we  should  glory  except  in  the 
cross  of  Christ. 


FORTY-SIXTH  DAY 

God  Surrenders  to  Man 

There  is  a passage  in  the  Following  of 
Christ,  II.,  11,  in  which  a Kempis  in- 
sists that  nothing  we  can  offer  to  God  is 
^acceptable  unless  we  offer  ourselves.  ‘‘If 
a man  give  his  whole  substance,  it  is 
nothing.  If  he  do  great  penance,  it  is  but 
little.  If  he  attain  to  all  knowledge,  he  is 
far  off  still.  If  he  have  great  virtue  and 
very  fervent  devotion,  there  is  still  much 
wanting  to  him,  the  one  thing  which  is 
supremely  necessary  to  him.”  What  is 
the  one  thing  necessary?  “That  having 
given  all  things  else  to  God  he  give  him- 
self.” 

Now,  man,  recognizing  the  demand  of 
God  that  we  surrender  ourselves  to  Him, 
boldly  retaliates  with  a demand  that  God 
surrender  Himself  to  us.  Man  says  to 
God,  “Thou  mayest  multiply  Thy  favors; 
Thou  mayest  overwhelm  me  with  gifts, 
but  though  Thy  gifts,  temporal  and  spir- 
itual, be  piled  in  mountains  before  me, 
my  heart  remains  unsatisfied,  my  soul  is 
discontent.  I want  not  Thy  gifts,  I want 
Thee.  Pardon,  my  God,  if  I speak  boldly, 
I speak  as  Thou  hast  made  me.  Thou 
hast  made  me  man,  but  Thou  hast  given 
me  the  cravings  of  a god.  Thou  mayest 
ransack  all  Thy  universe.  Thou  mayest 
empty  Thy  treasure-house  before  my  feet. 
Still  I demand  more,  that  Thou  give  me 
Thyself.  Thou  hast  made  me  for  Thyself. 
My  heart  remains  empty  until  it  be  filled 
with  Thee.”  The  answer  is  the  Incarna- 
tion and  the  Blessed  Sacrament. 


— 48  — 


